


Power's Out

by the_constant_reader



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cabin Fic, F/M, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Room, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2019-12-26 18:32:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18287897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_constant_reader/pseuds/the_constant_reader
Summary: The biggest recorded blizzard in over a decade, and you have the good fortune to be stuck smack bang in the middle of it. No choice but to wait it out, really.Little did you know that someone else was in the exact same predicament.





	1. A Little Light

'Mayday, mayday, mayday! Baggins, do you copy? Over.'

You pressed the walkie-talkie to your ear for the umpteenth time, hoping for something,  _anything_ other than the crackling whoosh of static, but getting dead air. With a sigh, you moved your thumb down over the call button before thinking better of it and fished your map out from under your coat. You wiped the condensation off of its plastic sleeve, holding it as steady as you could in the rising gale. Your torch, though fading, offered just enough light for you to make out the map's details.

_Ah, there!_

Though tiny, you could see a refuge cabin marked on your map, not more than a mile north. You tucked the map neatly away and, using your compass to get your bearings in the last of the torch's light, you fired up the snowmobile, revving the engine a few times for good measure. Though its headlights proved almost useless in the fast-falling snow, you carefully toed the accelerator and moved off into the storm. Seemingly as soon as you had taken off, however, the snowmobile slid to a gradual halt, the hush of its skis replacing the rumble of the engine. 

You hurriedly twisted the key round. A few weak revs, no turn-over.

'Shit.' You tried the ignition twice more before stepping out of the seat and around to inspect the engine. The unmistakable smell of two-stroke hit you before you even reached it, and you felt your heart sink. Shining your torch onto the fresh snow behind, you could make out faint drops of petrol. The puncture, though small, had been enough to drain the tank in its entirety.

Resignedly, you retrieved your knapsack from behind the seat and, snugging your coat tighter around you, trudged off into the dim.

 

* * *

 

Winding the handle on your torch furiously, you managed to eke just enough light out to see a few paces in front of you. Your compass, though obscured by snow, was still showing north. You thought back to your snowmobile, sitting under a steadily growing mound of powder, shuddering to think of what Bilbo would say, he being both fellow ranger and pedant-extraordinaire. You chuckled a little in spite of yourself before noticing a faint shape in the distance. Halting, you squinted into the storm. Your torchlight sputtered out once more, and you wound its crank swiftly, just able to make the cabin out, perhaps 100 metres ahead.

'Thank God.'

You could feel your feet growing steadily colder, even through your thick socks and boots. Your face, though thankfully mostly covered by your balaclava, still felt as though millions of tiny pinpricks of ice were being forced into it. The wind pushed its freezing tendrils through the thick folds of your coat, and you silently prayed for a mug of hot tea and a roaring fire. 

Finally, mercifully, you reached the cabin, shouldering the heavy door open and shutting it just as harshly. Leaning back, you took a deep and grateful breath. The quiet, though not absolute, was a beautiful respite from the maelstrom that was building outside. You felt to the left of the door and hit the first switch your fingers brushed. A dim light flickered sluggishly to life overhead. The cabin, though sparse, was enough. A tiny kitchen and bathroom. Bunks. A few armchairs. And, wonderfully, a sturdy wood heater and a dusty pile of firewood. Surprisingly enough, next to the switch panel was a faded thermostat. Though your still-frozen hands ached to crank it all the way up, you knew the generator's fuel was precious, so you shrugged your knapsack and coat off reluctantly and set to building a fire. The wood, bone dry, lit beautifully, and the room soon filled with its soft glow.

The fire burning steadily away, you pulled the few items you had out of your knapsack, stowing them under the bottom bunk. Your book, tucked right at the bottom, was dry, and you pulled it out. You took the armchair nearest the fire. The warmth crept through your thread-worn socks, and you felt safe enough.


	2. Visitor

_Thud. Thud._

The noise roused you from your slumber. You squinted, bleary-eyed, towards the door as it cracked and squeaked on its hinges, realising that the pounding couldn't just be the storm. Your book all but forgotten on the boards, you hastened over. You drew the hefty bolt back and yanked the door inwards. A figure fell in with it, bringing a flurry of snow and all the chaos of the blizzard. The figure, half-stumbling, drew upwards, and you could make out the heavy, bearded features of a man underneath a soaking wet hood.

He coughed once, twice, before speaking. 'Thank God. Thought that blasted storm had gotten the better of me.'

Torn between wariness and sympathy, and opting for the latter, you replied: 'Tell me about it. What were you doing out there, anyway?'

'I'm a field biologist. I've been following one of the local deer herds. Guess I should've paid more attention to the weather reports.' Though slightly sheepish, he soon changed tone. 'I could ask you the same question, I suppose.'

'I'm one of the park's rangers. Blizzard caught me by surprise.'

He smiled. 'Happens to the best of us, hey? Oh, God, where are my manners?' He yanked one of his gloves off with his (very straight, very white) teeth, proffering a hand. 'Thorin. Guess we ought to get to know each other, 'cause this storm doesn't look as though it's going to let up any time soon.'

You took his outstretched hand, wincing at how icy it was. 'Y/N. Pleased to meet you. Fuck, you're freezing. Come and sit by the fire.'

Half-smiling, Thorin shed his bag and coat where he stood and crossed to the fireplace. He stretched his hands into its warmth and heaved a sigh of relief. 'Thank Christ for you lot.'

You sat opposite him, taking a proper look at his face, sans-hood. Handsome, definitely. Rough, but with a glimmer of kindness somewhere under there. You smiled back. 'Never had to use one of these cabins before. Never thought about them much before now, to be honest. Can't say I'm not grateful.'

He chuckled lightly and tipped his head back, eyes closing. You could see the steam rising from his drying clothes and, looking back towards the door, could see wet footprints from his sodden socks. He didn't seem fazed, just content to be near the fire's warmth. Remembering the tiny stove, you rose and crossed to the kitchen.

'Cup of tea, Thorin?'

'That'd be bloody brilliant.' You saw him sit up slightly, scanning the room. 'How long have these cabins been out here?

'I'm not totally sure.' You looked back at him from the stove, the match you were trying to light snapping in your fingers. 'Shit. At least a decade, at a guess.'

He hummed in response, eyes closing once more.

The kettle on, you skimmed the well-stocked pantry and pulled a can of Spam and some baked beans from its lower shelf. Further inspection produced a sizeable container of rice, which you tucked to your chest as well.

'I assume you're hungry.'

'Hmm? Oh, yeah. Do you need help? I should do-'

You cut him off. 'Don't be silly. You've been out in the thick of all that far longer than me. Sit. Please.'

Thorin sat back in his seat, a sizeable damp patch showing on the worn corduroy. 'The sensible part of my brain is telling me to get out of these wet clothes. My lizard brain is saying I should stay by this fire.'

Laughing, you replied, 'Don't come crying to me when you get hypothermia.'

'Little dramatic, don't you think?'

You smiled, seeing Thorin squash his frame further into the chair. The few knives the kitchen held were fairly blunt, so the Spam was mush more than anything, but you couldn't foresee your water-logged guest complaining. You decanted the beans into a small pot, the Spam going in with them. The rice was set to boil, and you returned to the empty armchair, proffering two steaming mugs of tea.

'You didn't tell me how you took your tea.'

'As long as it's not black, I'm happy. Thank you, it's very kind.' He wrapped a large hand around the cup, brushing the back of your hand with the tips of his fingers. Cold, now, not icy. You sat.

Despite the cabin's solid construction, you could still hear the roar and pound of the blizzard as it swirled about outside, so thoroughly at odds with the crackling fire, the hot tea. Though grateful to have another to talk to and wait out the storm, you still found yourself feeling uneasy. Thorin's voice shook you from your reverie.

'Here - while dinner's cooking, should we get to know each other?'

'Yeah, not a bad idea.' 

And so, in between sips of tea and later, mouthfuls of beans and rice, you found out that Thorin was the oldest of three and an uncle to two. A bit of a loner, he'd been in the biology game since he'd finished uni, never really seeming to settle down. You also found that you liked him. Clever, affable, witty - not bad for a middle-of-a-blizzard companion. After the pair of you had finished your respective dinners, however meagre, you set to tidying the dishes away while he (finally) went off to change his still-damp clothes.

The poky bathroom's door opened a crack, and Thorin stuck his head out. 'Hey Y/N, do you mind if I use the shower quickly? Bit colder now without that fire.'

You rolled your eyes, smiling. 'Be my guest. Doubt you'll have too long in there, the boiler's going to be pretty tiny.'

'Excellent.' The door snapped shut again, and you heard the shower begin to run. 

With the dishes dripping beside the sink, you turned to the cabin's main window, squinting out into the black. It had been a long, long while since the night had been this forbidding up on the mountain, and you felt an involuntary shiver run across the back of your neck, taunting you. Though Thorin's presence was comforting, you were still very aware of how exposed the little hut was, of how furious that blizzard could become. And how real the possibility of the two of you getting snowed under was. You tried to push that thought as far away from the front of your mind as you could, just as you heard a yelp from the bathroom. The sound of the shower suddenly disappeared. You rushed over and thumped on the door.

'Thorin? Are you alright?'

'Yeah, fine. Bloody hot water just shut off.'

You remembered then that you had used a fair amount to wash the dinner dishes. Sheepish, you replied: 'Ah, shit, Thorin. I'm sorry, I used it on the stupid dishes.'

To your relief, you heard a low chuckle. 'That's alright, I was almost done anyway. Bit of soap in the eyes isn't going to kill me. I'll be out in a minute.'

You moved away from the door and back over to the fire as Thorin emerged, slightly dishevelled but far drier. He was sponging water from his hair as he spread the wettest of his old clothes across the cabin's few chairs. He returned to the fire's heat, still wringing his mop of hair out.

'Feel better?'

'Oh, much. And don't worry about the hot water, really. I should've gotten out of those clothes as soon as I walked in the door.'

'Well, yeah...'

He laughed. 'What's the time, anyway? Is there a clock in here?'

'No, it's okay, I've got a watch. It's just past 11.'

'I'd better hit the sack, I think. Which bunk do you prefer?'

'I don't mind, you choose.'

'Well, alright. I'll see you in the morning, I guess. Let's hope this storm has let up, hey?'

'Yeah, no kidding. See you in the morning.'

'G'night.' Thorin climbed up into the top bunk, shifting about under the blankets. By the time you had finished cleaning your teeth, you could hear him softly snoring. You padded across to the lights, flicking them off before crawling into bed yourself. The steadily waning glow of the fire now the room's only light, you shut your eyes, willing yourself to block out the wind.


	3. Morning

Bleary and still half-wrapped in sleep, you found the cabin brighter in the morning light, though colder. Thorin was up, but apparently as sleepy as you as he squinted out through the window and into the white expanse beyond. You sat up, the blanket curled around you.

'Anything out there?'

'Other than the snow? No. Storm's died off at least.'

'Did you sleep alright?'

'Hm. Out like a light.' He turned to look back at you. 'You?'

'Not bad. The wind kept me up a little.'

It was strange, you thought, how different a person could look in the day. What had seemed a rough, even harsh face the night before now looked calm and friendly, though undoubtedly pillow-rumpled. You also hadn't registered the sheer  _amount_ of hair on the man - back-lit, now, from the window, Thorin's dark mop showed tangled curls and faint strands of silver. It seemed to grow both out across his not insubstantial shoulders and down his back.

Thorin tucked the curtain back into place and crossed to the stove. 'Tea?'

You scrubbed a hand over your eyes. 'Yeah, please.' Letting the blanket slip back, you stood and stretched, very conscious of the thinness of your shirt in the cold. Your jumper lay discarded on a corner of one of the armchairs. You shrugged it on. Thorin's own clothes, strewn across several chair backs, were cold but dry as you brushed your hand over them on the way to the pantry.

'Fairly slim pickings for breakfast, I'm afraid.'

'That simply will not do! I'd expect nothing less than a full English. What sort of shithole is this?!' Thorin's fake-posh voice, whether by its own merit or the earliness of the hour, struck a chord with you, and you giggled as you pulled a mostly full bag of rolled oats from the shelf.

'Here, m'lord, find us some bowls, would you?' Thorin laughed in response, and you located a little tub of molasses and the milk from the night before, cold enough. The oats went into bowls, and the pair of you sat at the table to give them time to cook and the tea to steep.

'I thought it'd be a good idea to go out there and check on the generator, now that the storm's died off. I doubt that firewood will last us more than a couple of days,' said Thorin. 

'I was going to suggest the same. The real question is how much fuel's in that thing.'

'Mmm. Have you put out any sort of distress call?'

'I tried to last night, but any chance of a signal was shot to hell in the wind. I ought to try again, I guess.'

'Anyway, don't worry about it for the minute. Let's get dressed and eat, then we can assess the situation with clearer heads.' Thorin stood and grabbed his clothes from the free chairs and retreated to the bathroom. 

 

* * *

  

You stamped your feet, trying in vain to force some life into them as you thumbed your walkie-talkie's transmitter once more. Dead air. You shoved it back into your pocket. Hands clamped firmly under your arms, you walked closer to Thorin, examining the generator. Big enough, your only qualm was the lack of extra fuel to feed it. Thorin knew as well as you that it was bound to die sooner rather than later.

'What do you propose, Ranger Y/N?'

You knew he was trying his best to be cheery in the face of it all. You couldn't quite tell if it endeared or irked you. 'Well, I reckon we should see if there's an axe anywhere around here, try and get some firewood while it's still light out. It'll be wet as hell, but better than nothing.'

'The snow's pretty deep, Y/N.'

'I see that. We can try, though.'

He sighed, pulling his beanie off and raking a hand back through his hair. 'You're right. Let's find that axe.'

At first, the cabin yielded not so much as a steak knife. You had both scanned its outer walls at least twice when Thorin called out to you.

'Here!'

You rushed round to find Thorin standing over a small strongbox, half-hidden in the snow. Your forehead creased. 'Let's not get our hopes up.'

'Ye of little faith. Here, help me open it.' You both knelt and, brushing away the snow, tried forcing the lid off. Though not budging at first, it gradually eased away, and you were delighted to see a hefty axe, a flare gun and a few bundles of stiff rope. You pulled the axe free, glad to feel the sharpness of its edge against your thumb. Thorin grabbed the rope and pocketed it.

 

* * *

  

He was right about the snow, of course, but you knew that. Almost thigh-deep in powder, you found yourself inordinately grateful for a companion. Even if you were mutually fucked by your situation, the lurking ache in your calves a portent of sorts, the crunching of his rather laboured steps just ahead of you was... comforting.

'It's strange, y'know, being with someone. Being a ranger is fairly lonely. Most of the time, at least.'

'I had a similar thought last night, actually. You don't go into our lines of work looking to make friends, do you?'

You smirked, shook your head. You felt a little silly, really, at the happiness sitting in your chest, even if it was unspoken. Like Thorin, you'd never really been one for relationships, generally preferring the company of your own thoughts to anyone else's. You looked back over at him, the pom-pom on his hat bobbing with every stride, charming in its disjointedness.

By the time the pair of you had reached the little stand of trees behind the cabin, you could feel a trickle of sweat forming down the line of your back. The pines, though smallish, had let go several sizeable boughs.

'Tough work without a chainsaw, hey?' said Thorin.

You agreed. 'Even tougher with just the one axe. Could be worse.'

Thorin half-smiled, sardonic. 'Here - I saw a snow shovel back at the cabin, how-'

'And you're only bringing this up now?'

He sensed the smile in your voice, but he still looked slightly sheepish. 'I'm sorry, it just slipped my mind. I'll go back and get it, and clear this path out while you start on the wood. Fair?'

'Fair.'

And so it went. Thorin trudged and shovelled as you hacked steadily at the branches, piling the kindling neatly away. You'd almost made your way through a branch by the time he reached you. He set his shovel down and laid a friendly hand on your shoulder, prompting you to lower the axe, your arms and back thankful for the respite.

'I didn't clear it away entirely, but it's at least walk-able now. Why don't you take a break?'

You hadn't noticed him strip down to his Henley as he worked.  _Shit, dude_. How the fuck does a bloody biologist get shoulders like those? Your own coat had been similarly discarded, but you didn't see him looking at you with the same abandon you were sure painted your own stupid face.

'Y/N?' The corners of his eyes crinkling slightly, he lightly grasped your upper arm.

'Sorry, sorry. Miles away. Now, where did you put that rope?'

'Don't be silly. Sit for a minute. We've still got plenty of light. No use in you exhausting yourself.' 

You sighed, pushing your hair off your sweaty forehead. 'You're right.' Bundling your coat under yourself, you sat carefully on one of the thicker branches. You had never been a gawker, really, your work always being the thing that had mattered most. Sure, there had been guys here and there, and one or two women, but you had always felt a strange pride in your ability to survive on your own, to be detached. That little thrill, however, at the sight of dark chest hair peeking through the collar of his shirt, at the strength apparent in his forearms as he split the pine, begged to differ.

Girlish fantasies aside, between your mutual efforts the wood was cut and stacked with remarkable speed. As you bundled the wood with the lengths of rope, Thorin spoke up.

'How are you?'

'Sorry?'

'How are you? I mean, how are you holding up? We're not in the cheeriest of circumstances.'

'Well, I'm tired, I guess, but it's worth it for the wood, so-'

'I don't really mean it in that way, Y/N. I want to know how you're feeling, how you're coping.'

'Oh. I'm... um... I'm okay. I guess.'

'I'm sorry, I don't want to put you on the spot-'

'No, it's okay. I'm too emotionally constipated for my own good anyway.'

Thorin laughed. 'We're kindred spirits in that sense then.'

'Kindred spirits? Who are you, Anne of Green fucking Gables?'

'Piss off.' There, again, the eye crinkle.

'I'm just dodging the question at this point anyway. I'm fine, mostly. I mean, I'm not  _happy_ , or anything. But I'm fundamentally okay, I think. It sounds... God, it sounds cheesy, but I'm glad I have you.'

'Yeah. Me too.'

You both smiled, then, before starting on hauling the wood back inside. The sun had just about reached its apex, and you were glad for being done, for having enough firewood to wait out the worst of it all.

'Frankly, I still can't quite get over 'kindred spirits'. Shall I brush your hair for you tonight, Diana?'

Thorin gives your shoulder a gentle bump with his own. 'Shut up, you.'


End file.
